


The American Tragedy

by eletania



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eletania/pseuds/eletania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vic is struggling with what life in the wastes means and how to deal with it. Thankfully, a charasmatic ghoul drug lord is all too happy to help. That doesn't mean what lies ahead will be easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Vic shoved the syringe of Psycho into her vein before rounding the corner, unleashing a storm of bullets on the super mutants attacking Sanctuary. It wasn't the first time the settlement had fended off attackers and it wouldn't be the last, but every time felt like a personal insult and sent her into a frenzy to protect her last home, her friends. She hadn't realized blood covered her clothes until she went to wipe the sweat from her face and felt it smear on her brow. Hancock couldn't help but laugh affectionately.

  
"There's something about seeing a tiny, rail thin, pale little vault dweller out of her time, covered in her enemy's blood and high on so many chems that they could take down a Brahmin that really get's a ghoul's blood going"

  
She threw the chunk of super mutant arm laying at her feet at his head. He managed to narrowly duck.

  
"Rude. I'm hurt, love. Wounded," he joked.

  
She tucked her black hair behind her ears before grabbing him by the lapels and pulling him into a deep kiss, slowly coming off her high. The sound of someone clearing their throat behind them stopped the moment, however.

  
"Sorry to interrupt, General,"

  
Of course. There wasn't a visit home yet that hadn't ended abruptly with another mission for the minutemen, who was she to think this time would be any different?  
Preston debriefed her. This time, a group of minutemen had gone dark not too far from Goodneighbor. She took only enough time to rinse the blood from her hair and face before heading off.

* * *

  
When they finally arrived to the decrepit building, they found no signs of any recent activity. Hancock cautiously began searching the building. Something wasn't right, and he couldn't place his finger on what. She whistled to him and motioned for him to come over.

  
In a hushed whisper, "Basement. Look's like a minuteman's hat at the base of the stairs. Careful"

  
He nodded and followed her down the stairs, both doing their best to avoid the creaking, rotting panels that threatened to give out beneath them.

  
"Shit," she spat. His eyes followed hers, three dead minutemen lay on the floor, bodies dismembered and looking awfully chewed on. As if on cue, floorboards in the next room over creaked ominously. Carefully they crept around the doorframe, hoping to catch whatever creature it was off guard. As they rounded the corner, they found themselves staring at a large deathclaw gnawing on the intestines of another one of their dead comrades. Eyes met for just a moment before it launched itself towards them. Hancock jumped back and Vic managed to roll out of the way just in time. She wished in this moment she had thought to bring heavier artillery, not that it would be much help. Anything heavy enough to take down a deathclaw quickly would likely end them as well in such tight quarters. In the few moments it took the deathclaw to regain it's footing, she shot a syringe of Psycho into her arm and quickly swallowed a small handful of Buffout. She rolled again to dodge it's next lunge, catching it's claws on her leg, shooting shell after shell from her shotgun point blank at it's head. She barely registered the stinging in her leg as she reloaded, screaming, the chems filling her head.  
Hancock managed to get it's attention with a whistle, her relief immediately swallowed by dread as it turned to lunge at him, with no room for him to jump back again. She screamed, running at it, filling its side with as many shells as she could shoot, reloading so quickly she didn't realize she had. However, her attack was obviously anticipated as it flung her back effortlessly, her head cracking against the dresser against the wall. Stars filled her vision, sound fading in and out. She tried to stand, nearly collapsing. She braced herself against the dresser and pulled herself up, looking for her shotgun. It lay across the room, knocked from her. Without time to think or grab it, she pulled the machete from its sheath at her side, lunging at the deathclaw. It turned suddenly and caught her side in it's jaws, shaking her twice before throwing her again. Despite the heavy load of chems in her system, she felt that. _Fuck_.

  
It picked up Hancock, still unleashing hell on the beast and threw him through a collapsing wall into the next room. She went to stand again and felt a sharp pain both in her side but also in her right leg. A quick glance down revealed what she suspect, broken, fragments of bone threatening to break through the skin below her knee. Fortunately, she saw her gun laying on the ground at her feet, grabbing it quickly.

  
Hancock was still shaking off the last throw, pulling a large hunk of wood from his arm, but otherwise no worse for the wear, when the deathclaw ran at her. _One, two, reload, one, two, reload, one, two, reload, no. No more shells. Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ It slashed furiously at her, claws digging in deep to her face, chest, and torso. When she was certain that was it, she watched it's brains explode in front of her. Hancock breathing heavy, standing behind it, his own shotgun still smoking.  
He dropped his gun immediately to catch her before she hit the ground.

  
"Vic, fuck, are you okay? Stupid question. Vic, come on, stay with me" His eyes frantically searched her face, hands shaking around her.

  
She managed a slight smirk and soft laugh, unable to form words. Black quickly crept up from the corners of her vision. He was talking to her, she knew that, but he sounded miles away. Everything sounded miles away. Her side was so hot, but then she was cold. "So cold," she muttered, labored breaths following.  
"No, no, no," he carefully laid her down, pulling a stimpak and Med-x from his pocket, shooting each with precision only another addict could do. "Fuck!" he swore, throwing his gun on his back and picking her up. His legs couldn't carry him quick enough to Goodneighbor, and suddenly their proximity to the makeshift town didn't feel close enough.  
When he busted through the door, Daisy took one look at the limp body in his arms, "Shit!" She led him quickly into the Old State House and up the stairs to an empty bed. Fahrenheit appeared moments later with Doctor Amari.

  
Hancock was shaking and had to be jerked away from Vic's side by Fahrenheit.

  
"John!" She grabbed his shoulders, shaking him, "Doc's gonna fix her up, but YOU need to tell me what the fuck happened"

  
"I, I don't know. We were helping the minutemen again. A few went dark just outside of town. Deathclaw. Not sure why, why they were there or why it was there, but," he blurted out breathlessly. His eyes darted past Fahrenheit to the scene behind her. Doctor Amari ripped open Vic's flannel shirt, what was left under the mangled bloody rags. A deep cut across her face, two across her chest and one on her torso. A large bite mark in her side bled freely onto the bed below her. He hadn't even noticed the large tear in her pants or the bone screaming to break free until then. In truth, he wasn't sure she was even still alive, her breaths were shallow at this point and not easily seen across the room.  
 

Fahrenheit's eyes darted from Vic to Hancock before grabbing him and pulling him from the room, shutting the door in his face, returning to the doctor to help.  
He stared wide eyed at the shut door for a few moments before coming to.

  
"They'll get her patched up. Doc's the best, you know that" a guard he hadn't realized was standing there said. He simply nodded, swiping some Med-x and Jet from the table propped against the hallway wall before making his way to the Third Rail.

  
He slouched at the bar, taking a hit of Jet and then Med-x before downing his third whiskey. The bartender didn't bother asking. He'd seen the mangled mess rushed into the state house. It didn't take a genius to figure out only the Sole Survivor of Vault 111 had ever gotten Hancock that emotionally tangled and that it must have been her limp body he had carried in. He let the drugs fill his system, trying hard to not think of her bloody mess of a body laying in that bed. Anything but that. He reached in his pocket before finding a large syringe of Med-x unused. Perfect, he needed to be numb right now. He rolled up his sleeve once more, slowly letting the drugs fill his veins once more. A binge like this was reserved for two situations, extraordinary fun times with her, or tragedy. He didn't want to admit it was the latter, but he was having a hard time seeing how she could come out of that. He shook his head, shaking away the image of the blood on his hands, her lifeless body in his arms. Instead he focused on her smile, the smirk she made when making another smartass comment, the warmth in her pale blue eyes when she helped those who really needed it, the smell of her hair as she curled up against him on a chilly night, earthy and sweet.

  
He rubbed his sunken eyes, setting his hat next to him, sighing. No, he refused to think of the potential finality of it all. He wouldn't do that, he _couldn't_ do that, not tonight, not now. He stared blankly, not remembering his feet carrying him to the state house, nor his body falling with heavy weight onto the couch in his office. He resisted the urge to walk to the next room over where she lay, to pester Doctor Amari on her status. In fact, he couldn't have been more grateful when slumber came.


	2. Chapter 2

It took three days for Vic to wake up. Three days he filled with heavy drinking and drug binges filling the time between unconsciousness. On more than one occasion, he woke knowing he owed Fahrenheit for making sure he didn't end up dead in an alley. A hard kick to his shin dangling over the side of the bed from Fahrenheit was what alerted him of a change.

  
"Doc said she's up,"

  
"You didn't have to kick me," he groaned, hurriedly sitting up.

  
"You weren't getting up. Turns out that those binges are catching up with you." She turned and left him there to wipe the sleep off his eyes and pull his coat on. She was propped up in the old bed when he entered, a sly smirk spreading on her face.

  
"You look like hell," she teased.

  
"You think I look bad? Then make sure not to look at a mirror yourself,"

  
Her laugh prompted a quick pained grimace. "Shit," she seethed, gripping her side. He rushed to her side, concern spreading over his face. It wasn't long before she needed another heavy dose of Med-x. He watched as Doctor Amari changed her bandages, carefully cleaning the deep bite in her side, hoping against hope that it wouldn't end up infected. His eyes trailed up to the sutures under her eye and covering a large chunk of her face. He knew she came out of that vault with few scars, and even before this, she had  already earned more than a handful marring her body. Scars were part of the wasteland, they showed you lived to see another day. That didn't mean he wished them on anyone, least of all her. He took her hand in his, kissing her knuckles. She made it through the worst. She'd pull through. _This time._

* * *

  
"Another month?" she groaned.

She had been fortunate and after two weeks was able to get her stitches out. Her side still ached when she turned too harshly or if something bumped it, but the worst was past.

"Your leg is broken. That takes more than a couple weeks to set and heal properly. I won't have you running out into the wastes prematurely and dying because it re-fractures in the middle of fighting super mutants. You're welcome to the set of crutches I have, they're sturdy and have helped more than one injured drifter. That's the best I can offer." The doctor propped the crutches against the wall and left, Vic _hmph_ ing as she left.

  
"The fuck are we supposed to do for a month?" They had been able to reach Preston over the minutemen radio, and debriefed him on their situation, relieving them of all immediate duties. However, neither seemed content to sit on their asses for any longer.

"Not become a meal for a deathclaw, for starters," he teased, "Can't rightly help the people from the belly of an irradiated giant lizard monster. Though, I don't know, you've pulled off some crazy shit, maybe _you_ could."

  
Hancock helped her to her feet, allowing her to brace herself against him as she pulled on pants and flannel. Despite dating their mayor and saving most of the town's asses on multiple occasions, she doubted any of Goodneighbor (save for John, of course, it was his preferred apparel for her) wanted to see her trot around in a tank top and underwear.

Getting to the stairwell with crutches went relatively well. It was getting down the spiral staircase that proved to be a bit more challenging. Three steps. That's all it took before she nearly fell, likely putting an abrupt stop to any healing. His arm wrapped around her waist, earning a harsh grunt, but pulling her back.

"Alright, love, I get it, but you're not falling to your death in my state house," and with that, he pulled her up into his arms, carrying her to the Third Rail. The smell of medicine and whiskey did not mix well for either of their liking, and a trip to a proper bar was much needed.

 

* * *

  
  
As much as they hated the wait, he couldn't pretend he didn't appreciate knowing she was safe, even if just for then, and able to pass the time with him. They ultimately opted to pass the time with elaborate pranks, at her insistence ("John, I'm bored. Light hearted games keep morale up, isn't that what you want for Goodneighbor?") and card games, all with a little help from some Jet, Med-x, and Buffout. A strategically placed ghoul head that may or may not have been staring at Doctor Amari when she turned on the lights to her basement office was the final straw, prompting the immediate removal of Vic's cast.

  
They knew Preston would prefer to hear about everything in person and that their little talks over the minutemen radio wouldn't suffice; so it was back to Sanctuary. The trip was rather uneventful, save for a few raiders and super mutants, nothing extraordinary. They finally arrived at Sanctuary at 2:30am, according to the clock on her pipboy, and crashed in the house she had fashioned for them when they were there.

  
She tossed her bag down, laying her guns on the couch before plopping onto the large mattress on the floor. He followed suit, offering her mentats before taking a few himself. They lay in silence for a while, letting the glow of the moon illuminate the room around them. She was certain his high was wasted and he had passed out when he finally spoke.

"Why don't we stay in your old house?"

She wrapped an arm over his chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall, head on his shoulder. A sigh escaped her lips.

"I'm not trying to push, just trying to understand. You want to find your son, but you've been doing everything but follow any lead that may help find him. You won't wear your old wedding ring, you won't tell me anything about him, but you still carry it, and you can't deny it, I've seen you fiddle it in your pocket. You are chasing and running from your past all at once, and I'm having a hard time making heads or tales of it, without any context. I want to help, I want to understand."

She paused, considering how to answer. He was certain she wouldn't answer, and that was fine, he wouldn't push.

"John, it was so different. I was a different person."

"Vic, love, you don't have to-"

"No, I do. Its not fair to you." He sat up, rearranging so her head rested in his lap. His thumb traced the scar that formed on her face. She shut her eyes and sighed, "Before the war, I was a programmer in my free time. I was a damn good one too, " he nodded, noting how she hacked into any terminal with ease as if she wrote the code herself, something very foreign to him. Drugs and guns, these were things he was good at. Hell, lockpicking he could even manage with the best of them. But computers were foreign to him.

  
"But _girls don't code_. It wasn't a thing then. I could become a nurse, which we both know I'd flop at, a teacher, and I hate children, or a lawyer. That was about the extent of it, and frankly, going into law was still very new, very uncommon, I think my father being one of the top prosecutors in the state helped. But still. Anyways. So I became a lawyer, I even graduated a year early. I got married to a nice guy because it was expected of me, because my parents paid my way through college and they wanted grandkids. Nate was nice, he was compassionate and kind, he was in the military. And I did my wifely duties, popped out a little one, but it wasn't even two months later the bombs dropped."

  
She paused. She could feel her chest tightening, the image of the mushroom cloud so vivid in her mind. She focused her breathing. _I will get through this. I will tell him. Inhale, hold. I can't have a panic attack over this. Exhale, hold. It happened two hundred years ago. Inhale, hold. No more bombs, just his hands. Exhale, hold. Just him, just now._ Her mind stopped spinning, enough to continue. He didn't push, he just waited.

  
"I was so trapped, and I want to say I miss them, but I can't. I just can't. I need to find Shaun because what happened wasn't an accident, it was very planned and I need to know who did this to us, to our friends. I spent those couple of months trying to deal with postpartum depression, and trying to muster some maternal instincts that don't exist, I never got to bond with him. And Nate was busy getting ready to be deployed, he couldn't help, and I was just so tired." Her mind went back to locking herself in her bathroom. It was 4:30am and she had slept only thirty minutes that night. Nate had left for work. And Shaun just _wouldn't stop crying_ and all she could do was lock herself in the bathroom and sob silently into her arm, knees pulled tight to her chest. Trapped in a life she couldn't get out of. But this wasn't that. This was two hundred years later. Nate was dead. Shaun was gone. _Focus on his hands._ He traced her scar with one hand, rubbing small circles on her wrist with his other. _Focus. Inhale, hold. Exhale, hold._

  
"I can't go back in my old house because its just too confusing, its too much. I did when I first got out, first place I found. Met up with Codsworth, but I had a full blown panic attack. Took one look in the mirror and found an old knife Nate kept taped to the back of our headboard, chopped off my hair and ran. I haven't stopped running. This place gives me freedom, and I fucking love it and I feel ashamed for loving it. I know people are starting to question why I haven't followed those leads, why I don't go hunt down this Institute scientist who likely knows something. I don't think I'm ready to find him yet. I'm scared for what that means. Is he even still alive? What kind of relationship could I even have with him? How old is he at this point? Do I even want a relationship with him?"

  
She didn't realize she was crying until she stopped speaking. She hadn't realized how quickly she was speaking. Her head was spinning, and not from the mentats, though their influence was likely the only reason she finally opened up to him. He gently pulled her up and wrapped his arms around her tightly.

  
"Love, we'll get to it when it comes. I, I wish I had the answers. We'll find out. I agree, someone was preying on you guys then, and I have a bad feeling they may still be preying on people today. No one is asking you to go back to your old life. Whatever comes of all this, I'm here. By your side."

  
She nodded, wiping the tears from her face. They slid down, he pulled her tight against him, nestling his face in her hair.

  
"Right here, love. S'all gonna be fine" he murmured.

  
She was pleasantly relieved at how easy sleep came that night, she'd need some good rest before leaving to try and survive the Glowing Sea long enough to find Virgil, if he still managed to survive there.

 

* * *

  
  
_"Your son, Shaun, great kid, a little older than you may have expected, but I'm guessing you figured that out by now. But if you're hoping for a happy reunion, ain't gonna happen. He's not here,"_

_"Goddamnit, you mercenary motherfucker, where is my son?"_

_"What's the cliche? So close, yet so far away?"_

 

_I'm in the cryo chamber again. Pounding, screaming._

_The opposing chamber opens. It's not Nate and Shaun. John? No, this isn't right. No, no, no._

_The scarred man shoots him, blowing his brains onto the wall behind him before turning to face me with a cynical laughter._

_It's not Kellogg's face._

_It's Shaun's. Not the infant, not the ten year old, but similar, aged, but clearly him._

_"Mother."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the positive notes! I can't tell you how happy that makes me. So excited to continue this story :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start getting really dark here. Also smut. For reasons.

She shot up with a start, the sheet draped over her clinging to her clammy skin, drenched in sweat. Her eyes darted to her side, Hancock had already gotten up, and likely had placed the sheet on her at that point. The sun was peaking over the horizon as she got up and set off to find him. He wasn't usually a morning person, so it was unusual to wake without his snoring in her ear. A quick scan of the settlement revealed most were still asleep, and would likely not appreciate a loud search for him, so she sat on the hood of a dilapidated car, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her flannel tighter around her. 

"Morning, sunshine," his gravelly voice in her ear nearly sent her flying. He had the tendency to sneak up on her, something she still didn't anticipate despite the months together. He pulled a flask from his pocket, took a swig, and offered it to her. Vodka was his coffee, and she was happy to partake and shake the dreams from the night prior. 

They sat in silence together, watching the sun rise, content with each others' company. When more people awoke, they prepared for the travel to the south, making sure to pack as much Rad-x as they could carry.

  
"You know, a hazmat suit might be a good idea." he offered.

  
"And _you_ know I hate wearing them, they're hot and uncomfortable and offer less protection from anything besides radiation than my current armor," she countered, strapping the leather odds and ends to her chest, legs, and arms.

  
The journey south didn't offer much in the way of ease, multiple firefights each day. He didn't bring up her confession of her past, something she found herself oddly greatful for. She'd need more than a good high of mentats to want to talk through that again. 

 

* * *

  
One evening they found themselves wandering down a street uphill, one house dimly lit ahead.

"Care to see if they're friendly?" She offered.

"Lead the way."

As they approached, however, screaming broke out and a family of four came running from the house. A small band of raiders followed, gunning down the two small girls in the street. One raider caught the mother by the hair, slitting her throat. A female raider, dirty long black hair obscuring her figure, shot the father. For a split second, she felt like she was watching herself from a year ago, terror spreading through her as she heard a cry. _A baby. Crying. Oh no. No._ A single gunshot followed. Then silence as the raiders returned to the building. The scene all happened so fast.

  
"Shit," Hancock whispered. They were tired and hungry and in no shape at the moment to fight a band of raiders. He glanced over to Vic, eyes wide in horror. Vic tried to scream out at the last, but a calloused hand covered her mouth, muffling the cries. When she silenced and the last lingering raider decided he hadn't heard anything, he lowered his hand, watching the final one return to the house.

  
Her shotgun fell to the ground with a thud and she took off in the opposite direction.

  
"Shit." He picked it up and ran after her, the quickly dimming light making it that much more difficult to follow her figure. He found her at the end of the street in a shack, next to a dock, door swung open. He looked inside long enough to confirm she was in there before shutting the door, locking it and swinging down the door bar he was greatful someone had thought to install.

  
With them secure from the immediate threat of raiders, he turned to her. She was sitting in the corner of the small tin building, eyes wide and filled with tears, breaths loud and irregular as she rocked herself. He kneeled in front of her, her eyes searching everywhere frantically, "No, no, no, no, no" She squinted them shut for a moment, opening only when his hands found her face.

  
In a soft, measured voice, "Look at me, Vic. Look at me, just me, focus. Deep breaths." Her eyes finally found his, searching his for answers he couldn't provide. Slowly he lowered his hands, pulling a syringe from his coat pocket. Moments like these he was especially glad he put each chem in unique different containers. A strong dose of Med-x and Jet, not one he used often, good for moments like this.

  
"Look at me." he cooed, repeating, not removing his eyes from her's as he took her arm, her shaky hand hastily pulling up her sleeve knowingly. She was on the verge of full on hyperventilation as he felt out her vein and slid the needle in, carefully injecting the thick concoction with precision only someone with years of heavy usage could manage.   
He knew the moment the drug hit her as her icy blue eyes steadied on his, her breathing slowing, her limbs falling limp at her side. He rested his forehead on her, concern written clearly on his face, and exhaled.

  
"It's okay. It's okay." He pulled her into a tight embrace and she sobbed silently into his shoulder before nodding off. He lowered her to the ground, laying an old dirty duffle bag  under her head for a pillow. He slunk down into a sit next to her, taking a hit of Jet himself. 

_Fuck. That is the LAST thing she needed to see right now._   
  


* * *

 

After nearly two weeks of travel, she could make out the sickly green storm stretching the horizon, a light tingle on her fingers. They opted to camp in a makeshift fort, made of old cars and torn sheets for shelter on the highway overlooking the sea, just out of reach of the heavy radiation storms. They set up in silence.

  
After finishing some barely warm cram and killing the fire in hopes of not attracting anyone or thing, Vic stretched out on the cool concrete, staring at the sky above. She wanted to appreciate the clear night sky, the moon glowing and the stars, before she couldn't in the glowing sea. Hancock stayed up, cleaning his shotgun under the dim light of the moon. After a half hour of her tossing, he appeared over her, handing her an inhaler of Jet without a word.

  
She accepted, taking in the fumes before handing it back to him. Both seemed content to sit in silence and he was certain she had finally fallen asleep. He couldn't resist the urge the stair off at the storms in the distance. Radiation didn't bother him, not since becoming a ghoul. He didn't want to consider their effect on her, though. Death was more likely than her becoming a ghoul with him, to live out the wastes with him indefinitely. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft murmur.

  
"John, you have a beautiful smile," she murmured sleepily, rolling over to face him, her eyes glazed.

  
He chuckled, "I think you might have me confused with you on that one."

  
"No, you do. You are beautiful in this world. You are hardy and beautiful. I'm just going to wilt like all other flowers in radiation."

  
Before he could respond, she had already fallen back asleep.   
  


When morning came, they didn't speak of the conversation from the night before, but he made a point to offer her a Rad-x before they could get too close to the Glowing Sea. He worried, though, as they made their way thick into the storm. She drifted a little too slow for his liking and he knew the Rad-x he had given her last was likely out of her system by now. She tried to ignore his sour scowl behind her, running her fingers over the console fried by radiation outside of a bunker, half sunken in the ground. She carefully went to picking the lock, instead. As the door popped open, she heard the growl of at least a dozen feral ghouls waking. Quickly shoving a Psycho in her veins, she readied her shotgun. The radiation had no doubt affected these ghouls, as they seemed both faster and stronger than the ones she had encountered elsewhere. After clearing them out, she spent the next several minutes looting the bunker, lingering to read what few files hadn't been destroyed on the console inside.

  
"You know, love, you're not exactly radiation resistant," he noted, annoyance seeping through his words.

  
She gave a dismissive wave, "How many people can get to see this? And truly appreciate it? I'm fine. The tingle gives me a light buzz anyways,"

  
It wasn't long before they found the Children of Atom and soon after, Virgil's cave. He wasn't sure what he expected. A ghoul, most likely, certainly not a super mutant, especially one who was fully cognizant. So it was off to find a Courser, no big deal. Except no one ever survived their encounter with one. Yeah, no big deal.

  
Despite the not-so-great news, Vic seemed chipper, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by Hancock. She also seemed to be taking her time leaving the radiation hell hole. Even better. His thoughts were soon interrupted by a rumble and an especially large, glowing Deathclaw ripping through the earth a few meters away. Given their last encounter with a deathclaw, he preferred to hide and avoid its notice. The rads were sure to have strengthened it as well.

  
Before he could turn, however, Vic was shooting up with another Psycho and charging the Deathclaw. She managed to roll out of the way as it lunged and jumped on it's back. It thrashed like a bull, but she held on long enough to strap a bundle of grenades to it's head with some duct tape, the resulting explosion sending her flying off. The smoke cleared and she pulled herself to her feet, deathclaw brains splattered over her clothes and face, a feral look in her eyes.

  
"What the HELL was that?!"

  
Unphased by his anger, "That was likely a record for taking down a deathclaw singlehandedly"

  
"Are you trying to die? Because it sure as hell feels like that right now!"

  
With that she shot up her middle finger and made quick work to leave the Glowing Sea. They hadn't truly fought before. Disagreements, sure, but nothing that a few hits of whatever chem they had handy couldn't resolve. He knew she was struggling since the issue with the raiders, that had been obvious, and he wanted to help, but she had resisted discussing it firmly, answering any statement, question, retort, or otherwise with silence. He eventually got used to silence and they fell into a routine over the course of the next week as they traveled to Goodneighbor. Any firefight seemed to go the same way: Vic ran in with her shotgun, high off a double dose of Psycho, blowing the brains out of any raider or mutant that stood in her way, point blank, Hancock taking point for a change, something he was not really used to. Her recklessness was becoming nerve-wracking, however.

* * *

  
The tension seemed to only amplify when they got in Goodneighbor, suddenly hyper-aware of the distance they had placed between them and the scowls they now both wore. To his credit, Hancock didn't spend his usual length of time swaggering around, making small talk with the citizens, and instead made a beeline for the state house and up to his office. She gladly followed.

  
They shut the door and threw their bags down. He went for the mentats, her for whiskey, downing it like water. She plopped onto his couch, staring at the ground bitterly. They had managed to go a week with no words and she sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to cave. She wasn't even angry at him, not really, but at this point, her stubborn demeanor was getting the best of her.

  
Hancock pulled an old metal chair out  from his closet and sat it down opposite her. The loud creak of a two hundred plus year old metal chair as he sat in it seemed to blare through the room.

  
"What the hell is going on, Vic?" he asked, his head lowered, eyes dark, his voice was huskier than usual, angry but also hurt.

  
She sat, contemplating for a moment, the whiskey making the room around her dance. She thought of the fucked up reality of it all, of her not-happy but peaceful life before all this, of the Vault-Tec company preying on fearful people, of her husband being killed and her son stolen, of fighting off raiders and ghouls and super mutants daily, of the Institute. The image of the raider shooting the baby flashed in her mind and suddenly a rage filled her. She threw the nearly empty bottle of whiskey across the room, glass shattering against the wall.

  
"This," she seethed, "Is what the hell is going on. Nothing in this fucked up world is just and I'm not even supposed to be here and you're too busy worrying about what a little radiation is gonna do to me to see I'm fucking dying inside!" She was screaming. And it wasn't fair. He had been nothing but supportive, and she knew she had been reckless, but right now she didn't care. He glared at her darkly, not taking the bait as she got up and began circling. There was an old mirror hanging behind him. He closed his eyes at the sound of the shatter against her fist.

  
"Vic, killing yourself isn't going to help, and it sure as hell ain't gonna find your son. I'm here for you, but you have to let me help," Calm. Measured. Somehow that made her angrier. It was the whiskey and she knew it. It was her drink of choice but too much and she'd fly off, rage and spitfire pummeling anything in her path.

  
She glanced down at her knuckles, bloody, shattered pieces of glass wedged in. The broken bottle lay at her feet. She picked up a piece, squeezing tightly until blood seeped between her fingers.

  
He watched her, growling, "You. Need. To. Stop." Her eyes met his, dropping the hunk of bottle in her hand. Angry tears were building in her eyes and she found her balance harder and harder to maintain, she clutched to his desk, blood dripping on the floor. What was she doing? She was stronger than this. She felt wild, undomesticated, like a cornered animal. She knew better, but somehow had a hard time grasping to the logic whispers in her mind.

  
He got up, pulling bandaging out. She didnt saying anything as he carefully pulled the fragments of glass from her knuckles. He removed the flask from his coat pocket, pouring the alcohol over he wounds. She hissed and he dabbed the blood away with a cloth before wrapping the bandage around her hand.

  
"Why do you do this?" she mused, watching him.

  
"'Cause I love you. In spite of what you're trying to do, I ain't gon' let you kill yourself. I've been down some dark roads myself. I would'a killed to have someone, anyone, to help me through those times. Lucky you," he teased, "you got me. The ugly mug is good for a few things."

  
He was smiling darkly at her, the sly grin pulling a feeling of arousal from her. She grabbed his lapels and pulled him into a rough kiss. He tasted of jet and cigarettes. He returned the kiss in kind, nipping at her lower lip. His hands slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer.

  
He hardened against her as she pulled his coat off, running her nails down his scarred back, her head spinning. He made quick work of her pants and she kicked them off hurredly. A primal groan escaped his lips as he unclasped her bra and carefully lowered her to his desk, sweeping off its contents in one swift motion. She nearly broke the button of his pants pulling them and his undergarments off. He kissed her roughly down her neck, calloused hands grazing over her nipples. Her breath hitched at the touch, sinking her teeth into his neck. A free hand drifted between her legs, under the elastic of her panties. She was slick to the touch and let out a soft moan as one finger entered her.

  
She wrapped her legs around him, eliciting a grin as he nipped and sucked at her nipples, sliding in a second finger. Moments later she was quivering beneath him. Breathless, she pulled off her panties with insistence. Normally, he'd want to tease her, stretch it as long as needed, but tonight they both had a primal hunger. He grabbed an inhaler of Jet from a desk drawer, taking a quit hit before offering it to her. She took a hit, pleasure rolling through her as he entered her with force.   
She gripped him tightly, foreheads resting on each other as he thrust with insistence. He dipped in, biting and sucking at the tender skin of her neck. She began clawing frantically at his scarred skin. He was like a feral thrusting into her. There was nothing sweet or slow or dragged out about this time. She arched her back, white hot pleasure racking her body, spots clouding her vision. Finally, he slowed and pulled out, sinking ontop of her, both damp with sweat.

  
Propping his head up with one hand look at her, he traced her scar with his thumb, kissing her tenderly before getting up and helping her to bed. Between the Jet, the whiskey, and the sex, it didn't long for her drift off. Somehow, though, Hancock found himself not tired.  

  
When she woke up, it was well into the night. The room had a soft glow from a lamp he left for her. Sitting up in the bed, she rubbed her eyes, remembering the events of the previous day. Good ending aside, it had otherwise been shit. She was falling apart and he had been nothing but kind and patient, she didn't deserve his love, but he gave it so freely. The room was empty besides her, if he wasn't in bed with her, he was likely still up. She made her way to the fridge and grabbed two beers before going over to his office. She owed him an apology, for being an ass, for being an emotional wreck, for just being her.

  
_There you go again, fucking everything good up._

  
He hadn't heard the door open. He hadn't seen her standing there either. The sound of the the bottles crashing to the floor prompted the blonde on his lap to turn. His heart sank at the sound, knowing damn well what she had seen.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll today.

He had been cleaning the broken glass and spilled whiskey off his floor when there was a knock at his door.

  
"It's open" he muttered, not looking up, tossing the soaked towel into the trash before sinking into the couch.

  
"Johnny," a purr came from the doorway. There stood a tall woman, thin from far too many drugs for too many years, blonde hair curled into a pre-war style, red sequinned dress barely covering her.

  
"What do you want, Bonnie?" He shot her an impatient look. She had been a flame when he was at his lowest, first moving to Goodneighbor. She had fueled his addiction and nearly robbed him blind. He knew she still lived there, but had been fortunate enough to avoid her most of the time. He could smell the vodka, cigarettes, and buffout across the room. Judging by the look in her sunken eyes, she was strung out and likely heard the screaming from the street below and wanted to take advantage of the situation. She had the tendency of coming around when the caps were running dry. He did not intend to fall for it this time.

  
"I was hoping to come talk," she was sauntering over to him slowly, "and perhaps rekindle that thing we had."

  
"Don't." he growled low, warning.

  
Ignoring his request, she straddled his lap, leaning in so close he could feel her breath on his neck, "Come'n, you know what you need,"

  
He placed his hands on her thighs, moments from shoving her off in disgust. The opportunity was taken, however, by the sound of broken bottles (again, damnit? I just cleaned this shit up).

  
Bonnie turned to look and was quickly thrown off by Hancock. "Out. Now." he shouted, not bothering to wait to see her go.

  
Vic had been through enough these last few weeks. She was hanging on by a thread and he'd be damned if he was gonna exacerbate the problem. He had to admit, he was surprised she wasn't at the Third Rail drinking herself into a stupor, nor at the Memory Den reliving happier times, nor at Daisy's ranting away as he had caught her on a few occasions. He was becoming desperate in his search, he knew damn well how she tended to act when upset, and considering her ever worsening situation lately, he didn't want to see how bad it could get. 

* * *

  
She stumbled into the Rexford Hotel. Fred was working the desk tonight, which she preferred. She didn't feel like answering Claire's questions right now.

  
"Strongest thing you've got and a room."

  
He arched an eyebrow at her request before reaching under the desk, handing her a strange looking syringe, provoking an inquisitive look.

  
"Double dose of Jet, triple dose of Med-x, a dose of mentats, and a little special something. Just push the button and it injects it all for you, provided you found the vein. Easier for the stronger shit."

  
She seemed content with his explanation and nodded, taking it and the key, conveniently labeled for the room and left up the stairs without a word. The room was dark and grungier than most. She suspected Fred had known what she needed the room for. The contents of her stomach churned and she made it to the bathroom before emptying them. Wiping her mouth, she took a cursory glance of the room. The bed looked a little too questionable for her liking, instead opting for the chair by the window, moon shining in and providing enough light. She needed to stop feeling. This was too much.

* * *

  
  
Hancock burst through the doors of the hotel, Fred giving him a questioning look.

  
"She only got enough for one, unless you brought something for yourse--"

  
"What room?" he growled, cutting him off.

  
"304."

  
He hurried up the stairs, his mind flashing with every possibility. She hadn't locked the door behind her. He knew a desperate binge, he had been there too often to count. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness of the room, meeting with her figure across the room. One arm dangled over the arm rest, the other still had the syringe in it. Her stare was blank, breaths light and shallow. She didn't acknowledge his presence.

  
"Shit. Vic?" he yanked the syringe out of her arm. Her skin was too pale for his liking, the veins near the injection site too dark. He bobbed his head back and forth, no reaction from her, staring ahead. "Shit." Her body was motionless and heavy with dead weight as he lifted her up, making a rushed dash for the Memory Den. Dr. Amari was going to get tired of seeing them so often, he knew, but she was the best and had the equipment to help.

  
He pushed through the doors, ignoring Irma's concerned yelling at him as he rushed down the stairs. Dr. Amari was still awake, something he couldn't be happier for. She worked late, the city was quieter and that often worked to his advantage. He plopped her on the table.

  
Dr. Amari had seen it too often in a town of misfits, and on several occasions, it had been even been Hancock. Vic's eyes had lulled shut.  Words were not needed, the fresh syringe mark told her all she needed. She checked for a pulse and reached with urgency for her defibrillator. Hancock ripped open her shirt to help, stepping back as the doctor approached with the paddles. It took three attempts before her heart started again.

  
An hour later, he collapsed in a chair next to her. An IV was crudely set up, flushing her system of the drugs, a small console beeping her heartrate from a small clamp on her finger. She was stable. He offered to watch her so the doctor could get some sleep, he suspected he couldn't sleep if he tried. He pulled the knife from his belt, casually spinning it, lost in thought. The last month had been bad. He blamed himself, pushing her too hard, she wasn't ready for all this and she was going to kill herself if they kept up this path. He considered their previous ventures, just exploring the Commonwealth, helping people, the times she smiled, the times a high didn't mean escaping everything. He had no doubt a Courser would find them on their own, the Institute had been appearing with more regular frequency lately, something he suspected was not a coincidence. No, she needed a break, let the damn Institute find her on their own time and they'd get a Courser then, he wasn't going to help her rush headlong into a deathtrap if he could help it. 

* * *

  
He didn't remember nodding off, but her stirring woke him. Dr. Amari was checking everything, still solid. Good. Vic seemed to be waking up and the doctor suspected they had much to discuss, letting herself out.

  
"I'll be upstairs if you need me."

  
Slowly, Vic turned to face him, a sad expression forming. "John," she murmured hoarsely. 

Hancock took her hand, "Love, I'm sorry, I've fucked this all up."

"John, don't. Please."

"No, let me finish." For the first time, he couldn't meet her gaze, guilt pooling in his stomach, "First, I know what it looked like. That was Bonnie, and she wanted to.... proposition me, she just wants caps for her chems. That's all she ever wants when she comes around and you, unfortunately, walked in the moment before I could push her off. Its a shit excuse, I know, but I'm shit and I shouldn't have let her get that close, I didn't think she'd dare. I've been pushing so long for answers, for you to open up, and I didn't consider how badly it would affect you. I know a thing or two 'bout ripping off a scab you're trying to heal, and I shouldn't have even asked. You're so good at all this that its easy to forget you weren't born into this world, that you went through everything you did. I kick myself every time you get hurt, physically or emotionally, 'cause I should do a better job of protecting you. That's what I'm 'sposed to do. I've been running so long I tend to not notice someone else may be running too. I've fucked shit up for you worse than I feel like I've helped, and if you'd rather trot around with Valentine or Preston or whoever can do a better job of not making everything worse, I totally get it."

She squeezed his hand, "No, I don't want to deal with this shitstorm with anyone else. This is just hard, and finding Shaun is proving harder for me, emotionally, than I thought. Who's a worse fuckup than the mother who can't deal with finding her son?"

"Don't talk like that, love. You've been through hell. Look, we'll go back out and take a break from that for a while, do what you do best, help folks who need helping. Sound good to you?" 

She nodded with approval. "Good, then let's get this freakshow on the road," he smiled. "Hey, doc?" he called. Dr. Amari reentered, eyeing the pair curiously. "We good?" 

"That depends, how do you feel, Ms. Rodriguez?" she asked.

"Like someone clocked me over the head with a brick. Otherwise, fantastic," Vic responded sarcastically.

"Then yes, let me get that IV out." She carefully removed the IV, placing a small bandage over it, handing her a spare t-shirt draped over a chair.

Hancock helped her back to the state house, still weak. "We can leave first light tomorrow. Let's take it easy today." He sat on the couch in his office, trying to push back the events of the last two days from his mind. Vic joined him at his side, resting her head on his shoulder. An uneventful day was something she more than welcomed right now.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise lighter times are coming. Only one place to go once you've hit bottom.   
> Plus I love torturing my OCs, sorry. <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, life really really got in the way. Hopefully now I'll be able to update more regularly. Heads up: Lots of BDSM smut this chapter.

"John, we really need to get going if we're going to reach Diamond City to hand that document off to Nick and reach Goodneighbor before it gets too dark,"

  
Hancock responded with a groan. He really fucking hated mornings. Especially when that meant waking up before midday, in the actual proper morning. Still, he'd take mornings from the last six weeks over the hell they had to get through to reach this point. It hadn't been easy, and he made a point of watching her subtly and keeping a spare Addictol in his pack. Three days after leaving Goodneighbor he had caught her slipping out one night and followed her to a battle with some raiders. He found her puking over a broken corpse, the symptoms of withdrawal  setting in. It wasn't until she was dry heaving for over an hour that she relented and agreed to his plan of just slowing down a bit and using Addictol as needed. "I don't need that shit," she had insisted, wanted to just quit, cold turkey of all things. He had played that game enough to know that's not how it worked in the wasteland. So she still used, just at a much slower rate, and when the signs of withdrawal kicked in, she'd relent and sneak the Addictol out of his pack, hoping he wouldn't notice. He knew it made her feel weak, despite his insistence it didn't make her weak in the slightest. He always had it replenished by the time she needed it again. They had even gotten lucky a week prior, running into a courser. Taking it down had been no walk in the park, but Vic was more than capable. Now they were simply completing small tasks while they waited for the Railroad to decipher the chip. Life seemed to be going smoothly for a change.

  
Vic leaned in for a kiss. He tasted like whiskey, cigarettes, and a hint of the berry mentats he had taken last night, and frankly, she wouldn't trade it for the world. Still, she pulled back as he started to nibble on her bottom lip, ignoring the soft whine that escaped him.

  
"We need to get to Goodneighbor if you want more," she stated matter-of-factly, packing her bag as he lay there.

  
"Well, when you phrase it like that, I guess we should get going,"

  
She couldn't help but laugh at his sudden hurry in packing. It had been nearly a week since they found somewhere safe enough to risk sex, and though she managed to conceal it a bit better, it was wearing on them both.

  
They made remarkable timing, truly, reaching Diamond City by mid day. It had never been explicitly stated, but most freely let her and her companions (regardless of who they were) travel through Diamond City, so long as she kept the trouble to a minimum. Most. They dropped off a folder of police documents, as well as a holotope, with Nick and quickly made their way back to the gate. Vic kept her head low, letting her messy hair hang in her face. The "perfect city" in this wasteland made her uneasy before she even knew Hancock. It felt false, like those rich gated communities from pre-war that chose ignore the problems around them. The anti-ghoul rhetoric didn't sit well and she'd rather just be gone. Hancock cautiously watched the citizens, following her quickly with his hands in his pockets. How many of these cold eyed people had been his friends at some point? How many had offered him a beer or joked with him? And now, they knew damn well who he was, his skin was the only difference, but it made a world of difference. Now, he didn't trust a single one of them to not shiv him when he turned his back.

  
They nearly made it to the gate without incidence. Nearly.

  
"The fuck is _that thing_ doing here?"

  
A greasy dark haired boy, not older than 20, had stepped in front of Vic so suddenly she nearly collided with him. He had one hand on his waist, the other casually swinging an old baseball bat.

  
"I wouldn't do-" Hancock tried to warn.

  
He couldn't finish that sentence before Vic grabbed the kid's wrist, hearing it snap as she twist it awkwardly, the bad falling on the ground. The scene unfolding happened faster than Hancock had anticipated. Vic grabbed the boy's face when he swung a fist, slamming it into her knee, shoving her boot deep in his gut as he tumbled to the ground, wheezing and grabbing his bloody nose. Four boys, wearing matching leather jackets, stepped back cautiously.

  
She picked up the bat from the ground, spinning it, yelling out, "Any other fucker that has something to say about me or my companion should step the fuck up now. You know damn the fuck well how many times I've saved your goddamned asses from raiders, Triggermen, Institute jackasses, and Supermutants. I don't linger and in turn, you leave me the fuck alone. Now, unless anyone else has something to say, I'd like to leave this fuckhole." A long silence. "That's what I thought,"

  
A few merchants she had helped or traded with offered applause. Hancock couldn't help but stare in awe, in respect, snapping out of it only when she chucked the bat at the tin wall, it crashing off with a loud THWACK.

  
He waited until they were nearing on Goodneighbor to say anything, "Thanks for that, love. You, you didn't have to stick up for this mug. Not many do,"

  
"Fuck that place. They have a problem with you? They can get the fuck over it,"

"Still, thanks."

"I just wish there had been even one super mutant between there and here. For real, I need to blow off steam,"

"As if smashing that guy's face in wasn't enough? And I've had Fahrenheit patrolling a little more, make it a bit safer for the traders coming through,"

"No, that wasn't enough," she grumbled.

The gates opened for them and they were greeted enthusiastically. Thankfully, the welcoming committee didn't linger too long and the pair were able to retire to his room in the Rexford quickly. Hancock plopped in a chair, spinning his knife as he nibbled on some cram absentmindedly. Vic eyed the knife, as if in a trance, a warmth pooling in her, as she quickly downed some stale sugar bombs. Hancock caught her gaze on the spinning metal, a sly grin spreading across his face.

He waited until she was done eating before speaking, "Let's do this."

She arched an eyebrow in response.

"Undress," he rose to his feet, discarding his coat, shirt, and sashed flag on the chair behind him.

 _Oh._ This was her favorite game. She quickly undressed and slowly approached him. He grabbed some handcuffs he had nabbed from the last police station they visited, making quick work of binding her hands behind her back. Her breath hitched as she stood in place and he rounded her, his dark eyes darting up and down her naked form. Without warning he grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her down to her knees. She could see his bulging through his thin pants, biting her bottom lip in anticipation.

"You want a taste?" he asked.

"Yes, please," _Goddamn_ ,  he loved it when she begged, how quickly and willingly she'd fall into this role. 

"Careful what you wish for,"

He discarded his boots and pants, taking his shaft in his hand. Taking another fistfull of hair, "Open." he commanded.

She obeyed and he shoved her face onto him without ease or care, forcing himself down her throat. He held her in place as she gagged and resisted, eyes watering.

"No, watch me,"

Her eyes met his, she focused on calming her breaths, and he pulled her head up and down his length. After a few minutes, he pulled her off, shoving her to the floor. She struggled to right herself to her knees, seeing him return from a crate sitting against the wall. Clothespins and his sash in his hands. Without a word, he placed a clothespin on each nipple, a cry escaping her lips. 

"Now, my room may be pretty far from the rest of the tenants here, but I've heard you scream, and the entirety of Goodneighbor doesn't need to hear that," 

He tied his sash around her as a gag, disappearing behind her. She smelled him light a cigarette before returning to her side, kneeling next to her. He took a drag, letting his other hand trail down her torso to her wetness. He chuckled, thrusting in two rough fingers without warning. He thrusted them in and out until she was at the edge, pulling out suddenly. He took another drag before taking his cigarette in hand, eyeing her neck affectionately. She realized his plan only a moment before he acted, holding her still with one hand, shoving the burnt butt into her neck with the other. She howled into the makeshift gag, eyes watering, as she felt herself go over the edge, riding the wave of pleasure as it went through her.

"Good, good," he cooed. When her breaths had slowed once more, he grabbed her by the hair once more, leading her to the bed, bending her over the edge of it. He shoved his knees between her legs, parting them for his viewing pleasure. She watched him put out the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table, grabbing his knife now. _Oh boy._

"I've seen how you watch this," he disappeared behind her once more. His palm smacked into her ass without warning. One, two, three. Before the stinging could subside, she felt the cool metal blade press against her cheeks. She whimpered, blood mixing with her juices dripping down her thighs. She thrusted herself at him, starving for release.

"Come now, I know you can beg. I need to know you want it," The knife pressed against her shoulder blade momentarily before he slid it down her back, slow but precise.

"Please," she begged through the gag.

He chuckled, pretending not to hear her, pressing it once more against her other shoulderblade before carving an X into her back, a sign of his love, she was his and he was her's. 

"Please, goddamnit, please,"

She heard the knife land on the floor next to the bed before with one grand thrust, he pushed himself into her, holding himself all the way in for a moment. He took a fistful of her hair once more and began thrusting hard. Vic preferred it hard, she wanted it to hurt, and this time might have taken the cake for best time. She pulsed around him again and again, he pounded into her without stopping, her walls starting to ache from the force. She felt the wave of white hot pleasure rush through her once more, in sync with his suddenly more frantic thrusts. He finally slowed before stopping, releasing his grip. Both simply stayed as they were for a few moments, catching their breaths. 

He unlocked the cuffs and removed the gag and clothespins, helping her up and into an embrace. He nuzzled his face into her hair, peppering her with soft kisses, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

After several minutes, they finally pulled away and she began running a bath, a rare luxury they had here. She sighed, sinking into the warm water when he returned to the bathroom, soap and bandages in his hand, he was always a kind lover. Hancock stepped into the bath with her, helping to clean her and her fresh wounds.

  
For the first time in a while, she was the first to fall asleep that night, pulling him into a tight embrace. And for the first time in a while, her night wasn't plagued by nightmares. Tomorrow, they'd return to Desdemona and the rest of the Railroad, but tonight? Tonight, she just wanted to enjoy this much needed distraction.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is getting a little spoilery but I'm writing this based on how I went about end-game. Which I guess wasn't even supposed to be a thing. So enjoy how I broke my way through endgame btw.

Vic accepted the pages from Virgil gratefully and set out due north.

  
"To the Railroad?"

"No, Sanctuary."

Hancock nodded, Sturges was known. As much as she liked the Railroad, she still preferred Sturges's touch, and frankly, she didn't know the Railroad very well yet. Not well enough to trust they wouldn't use her to further their agenda and toss her mission aside. Something about Desdemona made her feel a little intimidated, not a feeling she cared for, especially now. She had gone weeks without heavy consideration as to what going to the Institute meant, the weight of that. Sturges had given her a questioning look when she handed him the plans.

  
"I know how it looks. Trust me here, this is the only option. If anyone can pull this off, it's you."

  
She chewed her lip nervously. If he refused, that meant turning back to the Railroad, something she really preferred not to do.

  
"Yeah, yeah. I'll do it."

  
She couldn't help but fold her arms and pace Sanctuary for the next few hours as Sturges looked over the plans, working out the details. After a short while, most of the settlers started to avoid her nervously. When she got worked up she had the tendency to break things... or people. Hancock finally wrapped an arm around her protectively, pulling her into the house they called home while they were there.

  
"Love, he's got this. You need to calm down, you're making everyone a little nervous."

He held out an inhaler of jet, which she took gratefully before plopping down on the mattress in the dimly lit room and taking a hit.

"We're doing this."

"Yes."

"I don't know if I'm ready for this, John." Another hit.

"You are," he cradled her face in his hand. 

She felt her eyes start to glaze and she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, trying to clear her mind. She focused intently on the hideous speckles of the popcorn ceiling. _Of course that made it through the fucking apocalypse_. She didn't recall exactly when she fell asleep.

* * *

  
The sun had barely began rising over the horizon when a banging on the door woke her up. She got up, throwing on some pants and not bothering to wake Hancock. 

"You ready to do some building?" Sturges offered with an optimistic grin.

It was late in the morning when Hancock finally emerged from the house. The once bare platform that had been cleared from a completely wrecked house now housed an absurdly tall tower piece, a relay dish, and large generator. Sturges and Vic were crouched, saudering wires in the console they were working on building, a crude computer of sorts. Sturges saw Hancock first and walked over to him, greeting him with a pat, "I don't know how she does it, but she works tech better than I could have imagined,"

  
"Its foreign to me too, man."

"Done!" Vic shouted from the console, shutting the small door.

"Alright, I'm going to run some preliminary diagnostics, and then you want to see if this thing works?"

"Yeah, let me get ready," she sighed.

"You ready for this?" Concern was written all over Hancock's face.

"Yeah. Fuck, I could use a hit or two right now, but I'll be damned if I let some chems fuck up my chance of finding Shaun. Shit, I can't stop shaking, but I took an Addictol two days ago, it hasn't been enough since then to need enough." She was rambling, fidgeting nervously with her hands. "I can't help but feel like I'm going into this with not enough prep. What if they're armed? What if he doesn't know me? What if he doesn't want anything to do with me? How do I be a parent to a child I haven't known? Hancock, I just can't-"

"You've got this, love." He offered a kiss on her forehead. 

All she could respond with was a nod as she prepared for Sturges to send her up, or down, or wherever the fuck they were. _Shit's straight out of a science fiction novel._ She felt her guts churn and a sharp tug at her navel, everything went out of focus.

* * *

  
When the Institute came into focus around her, all she heard at first was her own heart thumping in her chest. Her hand wrapped around the shotgun holstered to her waist so tight her knuckles were turning white. It occured to her that someone was speaking to her, over a comm? _Great, so much for the element of surprise. And better, the coward won't even meet me face to face. What does he think walking me through this place will do?_

The path the voice guided her through allowed her to view a large room, lots of glass and tech. No one seemed to look her way, she wasn't sure if they weren't aware of her presence or if they were ordered not to look.

The next several minutes she felt like she was watching herself from out of body. Shaun wasn't ten, but sixty, and running the goddamned Institute, the very people who killed her husband and kidnapped him. And now he was asking her to join them? Vic had prepared herself for the possibility of her son not knowing her, she had known it a possibility they would never have a relationship. But this? This was not even on her list of possibilities to remotely consider. He asked her to go talk to his superior scientists, to give them a chance. With her gun squarely secured at her waist, she took off to posture. As badly as she wanted to run, she made a promise to Virgil, and she had to get some information if she was going to take them out.

For the most part, everyone was friendly, or so they seemed. She suspected they were told to me, lure her in. God, she wanted a hit, she wanted Jet or Med-x or any fucking chem that would make her heart slow the fuck down and allow her to calm down and just breathe. She knew she was being watched and chems would only cloud her judgement. Sober. She had to make it through this sober. She could waste whatever time afterwards getting high, but right now she needed to be clear headed. 

Getting into the FEV lab was surprisingly easy. She had told the doctor, whatever the hell any of their names were, it was easier to not know, she was going to look around a while before moving on. He had been so involved in the gorillas, she doubted he heard her. Seeing that Father, her son, was authorizing this testing, even after it became clear it wasn't helping, it only solidified her opinions. _Posture, pretend, you've got this._

Her steps echoed in the hallway. Vic focused on her breaths, her mind was spinning. Shaun still expected her to join? Was he out of his mind? In her days as a lawyer she had seen cases of brainwashing, and they rarely ended well. No, her son died that day in the vault. It occurred to her suddenly as he spoke, she was going to be followed. If he permitted her to leave without committing, they'd follow her. She had to do something, anything.

  
She hadn't taken Jet, but it sure as hell felt like it, time came to a crawl around her, the edges of her vision blurred, focused on one goal. She pulled out Diplomacy, her trusty shotgun, and fired. She didn't feel the blood and flesh splatter across her face. Another blast, brains spilling on the ground in front of her. She didn't hear the threats over the comms. Everyone had seen. Of course they had, they had probably watched everything.

  
"Sturges, get me the fuck out of here. NOW."

* * *

  
  
The moment Sanctuary came into focus around her, she ran to the house nearby, bracing herself as her stomach emptied in front of her. Everything was spinning, sounds fading out, then blackness.   
When she woke up, she was laying on the cool cement of the overhang they used as a workbench area, a shirt shoved under her head and a damn rag on her forehead.

"Easy, love," Hancock cooed as he helped her sit up. "What the hell happened up there?" 

Concern was written all over his face. How was she supposed to explain? Slow breaths, first. The story came easier than she anticipated, though, to be fair, it was more of a verbal diarrhea explanation of it all. 

"So now the entire Institute is in full hostile mode at me and without their coveted leader, Shaun."

Hancock simply stared at her for a moment, processing it all.

"Well, shit."

Preston, who had been quietly standing back and listening, finally spoke up.

"Well, General. That means we're going to have to put on the offense. They're going to anticipate you coming from here. But the minutemen coming from Castle? Probably not."

She nodded, taking it all in. She hadn't wanted to take anyone down with her, but going back alone was a suicide mission. 

It only took a few hours to get everyone packed up. In the end, all the settlers besides Sturges were sent back to Goodneighbor with Cait, under orders from Hancock for their protection. She sure as hell wasn't going to bring non-willing non-combatants down with her. So they set off to Castle, Vic quietly contemplating what the hell had just happened. 

 

When they arrived at Castle, a soft grip found her shoulder.

"Defenses still holding strong, General. Take the night to rest, tomorrow we can begin preparations."

If Preston noticed her shaking, he didn't say anything, and hurried off to fill in the rest of the Minutemen who looked surprised at their unannounced arrival. Hancock even got pulled in to explain. Vic disappeared within the reaches of the fortress quietly before being asked to repeat what both men were no doubt already saying.

She generally didn't care for the title of General. It was too formal for her liking. Too much was resting on her shoulders. But moments like this she was glad for it. She found her isolated quarters at the end of a hallway. Cold stone, she hadn't bothered to decorate it much. She didn't spend enough time here for it to be worth it. All she asked for was a bed and a crate for her belongings. She found that some of the minutemen who came to know her had added a chem station and a terminal at a desk. She plopped onto the bed, pulling a large syringe from her bag. She rolled up her sleeve and found the vein effortlessly, in spite of the shaking. The warm sensation filled her. A fine cocktail. She had bought a few mystery gifts from Fred last time she was in Goodneighbor. "For those panics. I get it." he had said to her, handing her a handful of syringes. She wanted to save them, for a safe place to use.

Her heart slowed, time dragged to a crawl. The light flickering from the dim lights danced around her. She felt... _fuzzy_. And warm. She wasn't sure how long it had been before she heard a knock. She was going to get up, but her feet didn't want to move. She moved to get up, sluggish movements making her clumsy, knocking the contents of her bag off the table next to her bed with a crash.

"Vic, it's me, open up," He sounded worried. She knew she should understand why, but the thought couldn't make itself clear. She went to stand, falling to the ground with a thud.

"Vic, open the door." He was getting worried, panicked. She could hear him yelling, but everything was so slow, so loud. All she wanted to do was sleep, preferably not on this cold, stone floor.

Then Hancock was crouched next to her. Her hazy eyes trailed to the door. Kicked off the hinges. _Oh_. He was pulling her up.

"Shit. Come on, let's get you up to the bed." To his credit, he pulled her to the bed and wrapped his arms protectively.

She listened to the soft hum of his heart, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, before speaking, "You don't have to stay with me, you know,"

"Of course I'm staying, kiddo. You've had a hell of a day. You need to go to bed."

She was sure he'd say something in the morning. She hadn't gotten that high in a very long time, and if he kicked the door of its hinges, she likely gave him good reason. But fuck, she was too blazed to consider that right now. Vic draped her arms over him lazily, "Okay, 'night,"

She was especially grateful not to relive any of the day's events that night in her dreams.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure if I was going to finish this, to be honest. I'm not super thrilled with how it all came out. But this is my first full length fic and I finally had a friend read this and say she liked it and by golly, I'm going to finish this, damnit. And its not terrific but I wanted to wrap things up. Thanks for all the support guys!

She wasn't sure what the folks at the Institute had hoped to accomplish sending an attack on Castle like they did. These people had been watching her since she walked out of the vault, they knew what she built, who she recruited, and more importantly, what she was capable of. Still, they came and she took them down systematically.

It hadn't taken long to build the teleportation for them to get back down to the Institute.

"You sure you're good to do this?" The gravelly voice behind her said so low only she heard it. Hancock's dark eyes watched her with concern.

"We need to end this shit."

Vic took his hand in her's as they, Preston, Sturges, and the minutemen stood on the base before being pulled down. She tried not to think as they ran through the white and steel fortress, shooting down any combatant they could. Preston wanted to save as many as he could. Of course he did, the man had always had a heart of gold. She had been doing a good job of keeping thinking to a minimum until one scared scientist got bold and a bullet pierced the back of her thigh, knocking her to the ground.

She could feel the hot blood trickle down the back of her leg and her hands shook, fumbling for the psycho syringe. There was no time to patch herself up and she was glad Hancock was too occupied with the giant apes to notice her go down and self medicate with chems rather than first aid. She ripped a bit of cloth off her flannel and tied it around the wound to stop the bleeding before hurrying to her feet again.

With the extra hands, they made quick work of wiping out most of the combatants and setting the nuke. Vic could feel the psycho begin to slowly wean as they approached the teleporter, all too eager to leave this chapter of her life behind once and for all.

"This kid says you're his mother,"

She had barely heard Sturges as she looked down at the synth claiming to be Shaun. _No, I killed Shaun. This is a duplicate. Maybe this is what their goal was with a kid synth all along, but is now the right goddamned time for this?!_

She could feel the collective eyes of Sturges, Preston, and Hancock on her, waiting for her to make a split second decision. She thought of Deacon, Desdemona, the rest of the Railroad crew. They might be interested in a synth child. This one had done nothing to her, and the sickness of making him to be like her now dead son she knew would be restricted to her. She wouldn't be able to care for him, any motherly instincts she had briefly possessed were long gone to the wastes. But she wouldn't just kill him if someone else could care for him. So with one extra in tow, they departed.

 

* * *

 

Preston handed her the button to set off the nuke. She hadn't known what to expect. She had seen the bombs drop before, but this was different, one lone thrown together nuke buried deep underground. She certainly hadn't expected the feeling of relief to wash over her as the bomb went off. It was like a large exhale from holding her breath for far too long. 

 

* * *

 

Ultimately, she sent "Shaun" off to the railroad under the protection of a few minutemen and she and Hancock departed for Goodneighbor. With the looming threat of the Institute gone, the Commonwealth settled down into more of a routine. Vic worked to maintain security in the settlements, taking life slower. Hancock helped her manage her chem habit, preventing her from going overboard anymore. She stepped down as General, letting Preston lead in a more effective manner. Despite her initial distrust of the Railroad, handing Shaun over seemed to help their relationship, and she eventually became a reliable side member, helping keep synths safe in the commonwealth. MacCready and Cait managed things in Sanctuary, building it into a small town for settlers. This wasn't how Vic had seen her life going, but ultimately she found herself happier than she could have imagined.


End file.
